


Guilt, rewards and the perils of not being Stephen Strange

by Sparklefingers



Series: In The Presence of Absence [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Battleworld, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklefingers/pseuds/Sparklefingers
Summary: Victor’s people had always been well cared for, well taken care of. The man who is not Stephen was, thus, well cared for.Continued musings on the man who is not Stephen Strange.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom
Series: In The Presence of Absence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545037
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Guilt, rewards and the perils of not being Stephen Strange

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still thinking about the ideas explored in 'And all the people that you made in (his) image', so have this. 
> 
> Thank you to the_casual_cheesecake for the title!

Victor von Doom was not a cruel God, nor was he a cruel master. This had always been true, no matter how the American so-called heroes loved to paint him as the heartless dictator. While the latter title be true, Victor’s people had always been well cared for, well taken care of. The price of leadership is to care for the needs of all subjects, and to have them anything less than safe, healthy, and content was a failure.

Victor von Doom does not fail.

The man who is not Stephen was, thus, well cared for. His rooms are spacious, well furnished, and bright. Light filters into his bedroom from a balcony overlooking the well-manicured gardens. (Only overlooking. None, not even the real Stephen himself, would be able to see the balcony or the inhabitants upon it. Victor had made certain.)

A large, soft, four-poster bed took up one side of the room. Soft pillows in shades of green to match the bedcovers, enough of them to make the bed luxurious but not so many as to become tedious to move when it came time for sleep. Or other activities, as the case may be. The woodwork, a dark stained walnut, elegantly carved with natural designs as it reached up to the high ceiling. Rich silky green fabric hung, giving the option of privacy as if these rooms without doors were not the most private place in all of Victor’s world.

The rest of the bedroom contained shelves upon shelves filled with books of every kind. A large subset of these were books of magic (carefully curated so as to keep the man away from magics that may lead to his leaving this room accidentally or with intent, but not so blatantly removed as to draw his attention to the absent information), but also books of history, of medicine, of science, cooking, art, fiction, and anything else the man (or Stephen) had ever passingly mentioned an interest in. A table with a high-backed chair took residence in one corner for studying, as well as an assortment of chairs of various comfort as the need arose. Carefully hidden away, there was even a beanbag should the man decide to throw all decorum out the window in favour of comfort while he read.

Through an archway (yes, Victor could have placed doors _within_ the rooms with no doors. But it would hardly be as dramatic, now would it?) a well-appointed kitchen was waiting should the urge to cook come upon him. It was not necessary, as food could be summoned to him whenever he desired. So far, he had only attempted to cook twice, but the look of accomplishment on the man’s face as he messily plated a pho he had spent all day labouring over from scratch for Victor’s pleasure had made the effort to produce this space for him entirely worth it.

(That had been the first time Victor had taken his mask off before the man. The adoration that had not wavered on his face as his hideousness was revealed to him for the first time was a pleasure so great that he even managed to choke down the horrendous food. For all his many virtues, Stephen Strange was not a talented cook.)

A small round table and two chairs were in the kitchen, made of the same dark wood as the bed. Most of his meals were taken solitarily, and Victor had taken this into consideration when choosing the size of the table. While it made sharing the space more difficult when they did share meals, it was better than forcing the man to take his meals alone at an expansive bench that made his isolation all the more apparent.

Originally, the bathroom off the other side of the bedroom had been a small, perfunctory thing. A shower stall; nice but not extravagant. A casual comment from the real Stephen, how he was _so_ going to enjoy a bath after a hard day, had changed that. The bathroom was now expansive, still with a (much larger) shower in the corner. But a large portion of the room was now devoted to a sunken bath, large enough for several people and long enough for one to fully immerse themselves in the hot, bubbly water. An expansive array of soaps, oils, bath bombs, lotions, and other indulgent toiletries lined the shelves built into the walls. (Oh, that he could treat the real Stephen to this luxury after a long day.)

Every luxury Victor could think of was provided for the man in exchange for the utter solitude in which he existed. This man was Victor’s greatest indulgence, his greatest weakness. Calling him into being was a gross betrayal of trust, of friendship. Continuing his existence, a further insult to the man on whom he was based. Yet, he could not bring himself to unmake him. With a thought, he could be erased. None would be the wiser to the weakness of a god. It would certainly be safer. While every caution had been taken to secret him away in these rooms that did not truly exist, could not be entered by any but himself, they did still exist. And as Victor knew only too well, secrets existed to be discovered. In the fullness of time, nothing was truly hidden. Every day he continued this dalliance was another day that Stephen could discover what he had done.

Victor’s hand, naked of his gleaming armour, gently caressed the man’s sleeping throat as he lay next to him. The faint kiss of faded bruises still graced that perfect skin, a memory of the violence he had already inflicted upon this innocent creature. He fitted his fingers into the marks, the larger bruises surrounding his fingertips like an aura.

A squeeze, and the problem would be no more.

Fingers twitch. Tighten.

Grey eyes opened, bleary with the sleep still trying to claim the man. Victor watched as he assessed the situation, eyes glancing down to the threat, and then back to Victor.

A hand gently placed itself on top of Victor’s clenching fingers, and the man curled in closer to Victor’s body. Eyes closed again, accepting whatever his God decided to do with him.

His fingers uncurled. Caressed that beautiful throat.

Incredible.

Victor pulled the man closer into his chest, wrapped his arms around him as if to protect him from the dangers of the world. As if Victor were not the only threat this man would ever have to fear.

He could not bring himself to unmake this man. Not the one Victor so desperately wanted, but made in his image. Made to love him. Trust him.

Victor knew it made him weak.

Victor knew he did not care.


End file.
